


Studying for the GRE with Arthur and Merlin

by riventhorn



Category: Merlin BBC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-09
Updated: 2010-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-16 19:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A verbose week in Camelot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Studying for the GRE with Arthur and Merlin

**Author's Note:**

> Studying GRE vocabulary is so much more entertaining with a little Arthur/Merlin porn thrown into the mix!
> 
> Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended; no profit is being made from this

Monday mornings began with Merlin’s usual peregrinations around the castle, fetching Arthur’s immaculate tunic from the laundry, his breakfast from the kitchens. Merlin liked to test out likely hiding places as he walked around—behind the ornate tapestry in the lower corridor, around the corner of the prodigious pillar in the hall. One never knew when the next nefarious villain would arrive in Camelot, and Merlin liked to be prepared.

Of course, doing that made him late, and Arthur chastised him. Arthur was always inclined to be captious where Merlin was concerned, so Merlin turned a deaf ear, as usual. Then he buckled Arthur into his cumbersome armor, and Arthur went off on his weekly patrol.

For Merlin, the week really got off to its official start in the evening. When Arthur returned from patrol, sweaty and sore, Merlin had his bath prepared. Arthur sank into the soothing water, moaning in relief. Merlin helped him with his ablutions, running soapy hands over Arthur’s chest, kneading his tense muscles, enamored with the way Arthur suspired under his ministrations.

“Excellent, Merlin,” Arthur murmured, and Merlin basked in the rare words of encomium. He trailed his fingers lower and wrapped them around Arthur’s hard shaft. Arthur’s moan was louder this time, and his fingers gripped the sides of the tub. Merlin’s fingers were unerring, knowing exactly how Arthur liked to be stroked and caressed. After Arthur came, Merlin rested his head on Arthur’s stalwart shoulder and tended to his own importunate erection.

*

On Tuesday, Arthur liked to fuck Merlin in the armory after training with his knights.

“Bend over that shield,” Arthur enjoined.

Merlin balked. “I’m not some meretricious whore!”

Arthur let his gaze wander down Merlin’s body to the obvious bulge in his breeches. “I can see that you want it, Merlin. Don’t be so obstreperous.”

Merlin scowled but relented. Arthur pushed up his tunic and pulled down his breeches and was soon thrusting ardently into Merlin. He reached down and grabbed Merlin’s cock, and Merlin came all over the shield.

“You—ah, _yes_ —you’ve just— _Arthur_ —just given me more toilsome work to do—oh, _more_ —on top of cleaning your ruddy armor,” Merlin panted.

*

Arthur had discovered that on Wednesday, Gaius went down to the lower town to check on patients. So in the afternoon he came to Merlin’s diminutive room and stripped Merlin’s clothes off, laid Merlin down on his stomach, and fingered him until Merlin was sweaty and incoherent.

“I’ve completely vitiated you, haven’t I?” Arthur mused as Merlin writhed and moaned. “You came to Camelot from that bucolic village of yours, an ingenuous country lad, and now look at you—uttering such salacious noises, looking so deliciously debauched.”

Merlin bit his lip and tried not to let the words that clamored within him escape. That Arthur was his desideratum, that he would do anything, if Arthur would just move his fingers faster, fuck Merlin harder. When Arthur at last let him come, Merlin slumped onto the sheets, a luxurious feeling of lassitude spreading over him.

*

Thursday evenings, Arthur always dined with Uther and returned to his chambers in a saturnine mood. He slumped in his chair by the fire, staring lugubriously into the flames. Merlin sank to his knees in front of Arthur and rested his hands on Arthur’s thighs.

Arthur sighed. “Am I fated to be an epigone, Merlin?”

“No,” Merlin replied, fingers loosening the laces of Arthur’s breeches. “You will be magnanimous, peerless,” he leaned forward and licked the head of Arthur’s cock, “beneficent, just, honorable…”

“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you Merlin?” Arthur said with a groan as Merlin took Arthur into his mouth.

*

On Fridays, Arthur went hunting, no matter the weather. Merlin complained under his breath as they proceeded into the stygian forest, the plangent growls of thunder sounding above them. Arthur, however, wore an insouciant smile.

Merlin kept a close eye on the undergrowth, certain that one of the fell monsters that seemed to lurk in the forest for the sole purpose of attacking Arthur was going to come charging out at them.

“Don’t be so chary, Merlin,” Arthur teased him. “If I’d known you were going to be so pusillanimous, I’d have left you at home.”

One day, Merlin pondered darkly, Arthur would apprehend all the things Merlin had done for him and spend the rest of his life expiating for treating Merlin so appallingly.

Of course, when Arthur had him up against a tree in the rain later, both of them soaked, and Arthur started stroking his cock while biting lightly at Merlin’s neck, Merlin decided that Arthur _could_ be quite ingratiating when he felt like it.

* 

Saturdays found Merlin in the stables, mucking them out, and invariably Arthur came to find him.

“This is getting rather quotidian,” Merlin gasped as Arthur slid his mouth around Merlin’s cock.

Arthur pulled off with a lubricious sound. “I beg your pardon?” he demanded.

“Not _this_ ,” Merlin elucidated, “just this whole—oh, yes, your tongue, _just_ like that—this whole routine.”

After Merlin came with a muffled shout, Arthur tumbled him down into the hay. “Trust you to be a demanding lover. As if bedding the crown prince wasn’t enough—do you dwell on such hedonistic thoughts all day?”

“Just most of it,” Merlin admitted.

*

By Saturday evening, Merlin was always weary—exhausted from a week of sedulous work and rescuing Arthur from various crises. Nightmares had plagued him, too—Uther execrating Merlin for being a sorcerer, Arthur stricken at Merlin’s mendacity.

“Tired?” Arthur asked him from where he was reclining in bed, watching as Merlin snuffed out the candles.

Merlin nodded, and Arthur beckoned to him. “Come on, then. You can’t get a proper sleep in that cramped bed of yours.”

And so Merlin crawled in beside Arthur, and Arthur wrapped his arms around him.

*

Sunday mornings, the refulgent sunlight crept through the curtains, and Merlin hid his face in Arthur’s chest.

Arthur ran amatory fingers through Merlin’s hair and pressed soft kisses to Merlin’s face, murmuring mellifluous endearments. Merlin relaxed in the irenic atmosphere, wrapped tenacious arms around Arthur, and decided that he was not one to bemoan the ineluctable bonds of destiny.


End file.
